You Don't Need A Name When You're Dead
by Amira L Renard
Summary: Alternatively titled Dust To Dust, a sister-fic to Ashes To Ashes.


**You Don't Need a Name When You're Dead.**

**Alternatively titled 'Dust to Dust'**

Disclaimer: This is in no way, shape or form mine. I'd never dream of taking credit for it, as JKR is the supreme owner and creator of everything in the HP universe.

A/N: This is a sister-fic to Ashes to Ashes (obviously) but I don't think it's as well-written. It's taken me a while to do, as it's a very difficult piece for me to write, so please try not to be too harsh…=\

The velvety black of the nighttime sky blankets the earth as I stretch out on the bank of the lake near my old home. As much as someone of my status can stretch out, that is.

There's a reason I am here, I would not be if there were not. You expect a spirit to reclaim life for a day merely because it can? 

Your expectations are wrong then. It defies all the laws of what happens…but I won't go into those right now.

A lone figure creeps its way into view as the moon casts its waning light through me and onto the unflattened grass beneath me. I look again and notice the slightly hunched stance, the hands clutching a dully glinting container and sigh dejectedly.

Why are you here, Hermione? Please…I don't want you to come, even though I made you promise. I am gone…

_"He'll be back. He said he would be"_

_Harry bit his lip and took a tentative step forward. He took a deep, steadying breath and opened his mouth to say something._

_"I don't want to hear it," she replied shortly. "I'm going."_

_"No, don't. He's gone…he can't come back. There's no way."_

_"Yes there is, and I'm going to find it," she said, and disappeared. Harry sighed and Disapparated as well, his being fading from view as if snatched by an unseen hand into the depths of an invisible body of water._

You seem to feel that there is something of me to hold onto in that urn, Hermione. I'd told you before that nothing physical remains when we die, although it was in a slightly different tone than I would say it now. Why do you still refuse to believe me?

You were the one who taught me these things, Hermione. How could I comprehend what it means to have lost your entire world but still be able to see it, without you to show me the way?

_"Water Wings?"_

_"Yes," she replied, placing the book in his hands._

_"You're joking, right? I have to read this?" he asked, regarding the picture of a furry animal wearing water wings on the front cover._

_"It's an Australian book. Read it, go on," she urged, grinning slightly and pushing him away to a corner to get started._

_He raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I'm going to read for pleasure any time soon?"_ _"The fact that you are. Now go read it."_

The book was one that I refused to read for almost two weeks, but when I did I discovered there was something in it that I hadn't anticipated. There was a message at the end that made an impact on me, although I'd never admit it in a million years, for fear that you would push more books on me.

I chuckle softly and shake my head at the memory…you constantly asked me what I thought and all I would do was give a vague answer about not knowing all that much about Australian culture.

_"So how was the book?"_

_He shrugged and mumbled, "Okay, I guess…"_

_She rolled her eyes. "You **guess**?"_

_"Well…I dunno. It's not like I'm Australian, is it? And…why was her bra on the roof?"_

_She laughed softly; a beautiful melody that wafted through the air to meet his ears in a pleasant way._

_"What?"_

_"Nothing," she replied, smirking at him in an irksome manner. He raised an eyebrow, which was replied to by a sharp whack on the shoulder with a book._

_"Ow."_

You're going to wait the day out, I know it. Go home, come on. You know you want to…

Oh bloody hell, I sound like Percy when I do that. Damn Percy and his determination to be someone important…couldn't he see what it was doing to him and his ability to communicate to other people?

You tried to help him…you of all people. Little Miss Oh-My-God-If-I-Don't-Start-Studying-In-November-I'll-Fail-The-June-Exams…you tried to teach Percy to take it down a notch. Ha. Good one.

We knew he was a lost case the moment he got those O.W.L.s, but I didn't know it would lead to what it did…

_He watched as Harry grabbed his Firebolt off the kitchen table and take off out the door at a jog, turning around after 100 metres or so to stare back at him, his green eyes concerned and querying. He motioned for Harry to wait for him, so Harry mounted his broom and soared upwards, silhoutted against the stark blue sky._

_He grinned and turned back towards his mother, the short and rounded figure so familiar and comforting. Yet surprisingly it frightened him…deep inside, his stomach seemed to want to escape from its restraints and make its way as far away from where it was then as possible. He gave her a questioning look, but took a step back when a tear rolled down her cheek to fall to the floor, sparkling in the small shaft of light pushing its way through the open door._

_"Ron, sit down please."_

_He backed into a chair, sitting as uncomfortable and awkward as they come; an unusual stance for him. His bright blue eyes gave his mother a searching look; asking, almost pleading with her, to know what it was she wanted to tell him._

_"It's…Percy…"_

I'm sorry, but even when I'm not here anymore, I can't remember anything that I was thinking that day. I can't remember what it is exactly that she said, but do I really want to?

I have twenty-four hours to wait, Hermione. I have come back for no more than twenty-four hours, and definitely no less. I know you won't even consider letting me go until you are convinced I have broken my promise, even though I have not and will not. 

It hurts so much to just be here, knowing that you are in so much pain. It hurts to be here and know that you won't ever know that I am, even though you wish it with all your being. 

Isn't this strange? Me teaching you for once, on something other than Quidditch or chess…

_"Um…may I ask what you're doing, Hermione?"_

_She glared across the board at him, and he flinched slightly._

_"You're getting better at that," he remarked with a chuckle. "Now really, what do you think you're doing there?"_

_"Playing chess, perchance?"_

_He glanced down at the figures and pulled a face. She looked completely nonplussed, and he shrugged._

_"Fine, have it your way, just don't blame me…"_

_"What am I doing wrong then? Well?" she asked, looking at the chess pieces on the board and then accusingly at Ron again._

_"No, never mind…"_

_"Tell me!!!"_

_"Well, see this knight you have here?" She nodded._

_"Even though it can check me, if I take it that leaves me open to checkmate you in under three moves."_

_She sighed. "Alright, fine, I won't move the knight…"_

_He grinned smugly._

And you believed me. I continued on to win the game in two moves, much to your annoyance. As always.

Once, you beat me at chess…just the once. I never did live it down, and now I have lost the chance to…

_"Chess?" she implored, a look of mischief sneaking its way across her face._

_"Alright," he replied, regarding her cautiously._

_~*~_

_He squeaked loudly and glared at her from his side of the table, mouthing, "What do you think you're playing at???"_

_She smirked annoyingly, moved a castle sideways and inched forwards on her seat. "Nothing," she mouthed back, and continued slowly rubbing her bare ankle along the side of his, grinning innocently, staring at the chessboard in front of her as his face became even more pale._

_Blood rushed to his head as the figures in front of him swam in and out of focus. He gulped, inched his hand forward and then quickly withdrew it. He'd forgotten how to play chess._

You're so cruel, Hermione…

I chuckle softly at the thought, imagining you as capable of cruelty…you and your bloody S.P.E.W…

You'd think at least some of that could have appeared in your face…you know how I had always despised the way I could never really tell what you were feeling, despite it being bleedingly obvious. Yet now, as I watch you there, finally sitting on the bank with my ashes in your lap, I can see what you are feeling. And I don't like it.

But I enjoy being here, and able to see you. I enjoy watching the smallest trace of wind picking up stray strands of your hair and chasing them around the sweet features of your face. I enjoy seeing how strong you are…but also how human we all are.

You have emotions, Hermione. Don't be afraid to show it. It doesn't take anything from you…

You can't hear me. You never will, dammit!!! It's just not fair.

Nothing ever is…

_She held the piece of parchment with her seventh year marks at arm's length, the folded paper giving her no hint as to how well she had done on her NEWTs. She opened her eyes, accidentally caught a glimpse of some ink and closed them again with a squeal._

_"Ron, I can't look…"_

_He rolled his eyes at Harry and grabbed her paper from her outstretched hand. "Fine, I'll read it. But only after I've read my own!"_

_"Okay, okay…"_

_He stuck out his tongue in concentration, pulling apart the edges of his own piece of parchment with an expression of dread imprinted upon his innocent features. He paused._

_"What is it?" she asked, becoming impatient after more than 2 minutes of silence._

_"I…I passed!!!"_

_She opened her eyes to look in wonder at him. He stared back, a wide grin on his freckled face._

_"That's…Ron, I'm so proud of you," she said, hugging him tightly._

_"And now for your marks," he replied, prying her arms from him. She gave him a strange look and took a step back, wondering what had caused him to retreat from her embrace so unhesitatingly._

_He opened the parchment, rolled his eyes and handed it back to her. She snatched it from him, glanced at the results and gasped._

_"I…I got full marks!!!"_

_"Go you," Ron said, smiling weakly at her, "mind you, it was obvious you would."_

I hate myself for lying to you then, Hermione. I did not pass all my exams, and I was not good enough for you. I still am not, but at that moment I couldn't bear to tell you my results. They were not better than any other year…not good enough for someone you love. Can't you see that you're too smart to be pining after me, Hermione? 

Just let me go! Please, let go. I hate this! You wonder if I can see what you are going through, and of course I do. But can't you realise that I am going through exactly the same just from seeing you like that?

I always have felt what you felt…you should know that. Just because I'm male doesn't mean I'm insensitive…

_The grey owl swept its way down through the Great Hall, it's dark, steely wings glinting dully in the light with oil and moisture from the rain. The swoop of its circling arc left a slight trail of breeze in its wake, which ruffled his hair as it landed with a slight click of talons on the table in front of Harry._

_He reached up a hand to keep them flattened, watching the owl cautiously and regarding the letter with a Ministry of Magic seal with serious distaste. He wrinkled his nose._

_"Burn it, Harry. It's useless. You don't need to read that…"_

_Harry gave him a mild but stern look, glancing apprehensively across the Hall at a few students who had turned their heads to question what he said exactly that was rubbish. He reached forward and took the letter from the owl's beak, glaring at the feathered animal as it gave him a haughty look, swept its wings and fluttered higher and higher, further away from the plates and cutlery layed out on the wooden surface of the table._

A letter. A letter that bore news that no one had expected…the news that You-Know-Who…

No, I can say it. He's gone. He no longer exists, he is no longer a part of our world…your world, that is. I can't be harmed by something that doesn't exist, especially if I do not exist myself…

But the letter bore the news that…Voldemort…was openly recognised as being back in power; that the public would soon be informed more widely of the occurrence of what could be classified as his resurrection. It was, in a way, an apology to Harry.

Did you miss the way we reacted to that? Did you not see the range of emotions we both went through? How could you have missed mine, anyway? Harry, having been so well practised on the art of concealing his feelings, managed it well. No one guessed that something other than the usual was bothering him.

But me…I gathered so much attention. I was upset at first, shocked. Then the anger came in, raging torrents, that they could not even properly apologise to my best friend for having accused him of not knowing what he was talking about. Of course he did…he's Harry for Christ's sake!!!

_The fire spat angrily; the flames twisting in the slight currents of wind that managed to penetrate through the walls of the tall, dark castle. A castle that sat atop a ridge, overlooking a dim, swarming lake; the view shrouded by a dark, thick cloud. A cloud that had descended no more than three days ago, and had yet to lift._

_It seemed symbolic of the feelings of everyone inside the castle…they felt dark, heavy. They were sad. And some were shedding tears, like that cloud._

_She sniffled slightly, raising her head to look at Harry. He was broken; his arm in a cast, his glasses yet again taped together…but he was broken in more than that one way. Inside, he was torn apart to pieces. He was emotionally shredded…there was nothing of him that had withstood the last few days._

_He tightened his arm around her, whispering, "It's okay Hermione…"_

_"Harry? Harry, look at me please," she pleaded with him. Harry hadn't looked anyone in the face for two days…it was frightening how he could avoid that. But no one else seemed to look into anyone else's eyes anyway, they all walked down the halls with a purpose in their stride, eyes downcast. They moved quickly, unphased by the chilly wind that pierced through their cloaks._

_"Yeah?"_

_Harry moved his head upwards, locking eyes with him, not Hermione. She looked at Ron, then sighed and leaned back against the chair, allowing him to talk._

_"Harry…are you sure you're okay? I mean, what with Dumbledore being dead an…"_

_He stopped mid-word, ceasing to speak from the sudden force exerted on his ribs by her elbow._

_"Yeah, I'm alright."_

_She looked outraged; she sat upright once more, eyes flaring up with her old fervour, and turned ferociously to him. Her lips parted to mouth the words, "He will not be okay! Say something!"_

_He just shook his head at her, an awkward smile tracing across his lips, remaining whilst he mouthed back, "Of course he will. He's Harry."_

Learn to take me seriously for once, Hermione. I may be irrational…I may leap in without thinking, without prior arrangements…but that's what got us through to the end. Well, it got Harry through, anyway.

Prior expectations could have killed us both. You of all people should know that, so please stop crying. I did what had to be done…I gave myself for someone more deserving of life. I lost a lot that evening…but most of all I lost love.

I am dead, yes. But I am a being incapable of emotions. I cannot hate, I cannot love. I merely think. But I do think, and know that I once loved you. I know that if I still had that capability, I would love you all over again.

You slowly rise, and I mimic your movements in my own ungraceful way, heaving my weightless mass upwards in a manner that I do not need to use, but do because it is almost like possessing a physical body. I slowly make my way around the edge of the lake and to the top of the bank where you stand, a dark silhouette against a starless sky…

_She sighed unhappily and leant back against the cold, stone wall. He could tell that she was cold, yet not once did she show a sign of shivering, not once did she flinch as her warm, brown skin rubbed against the coarse stone._

_"What's wrong? I thought you liked watching the stars?"_

_She paused, and once again looked at the midnight sky. Her face crumpled as she squinted at it; considering, calculating…_

_"But…look. Where are they? There are no stars."_

It was merely the cloud, that dark mass, shrouding our vision of them. But for that one moment, I thought about how our world might have been changed by that war…I thought about what my children would have to grow up to…

And now I won't have children. It's strange, I've always been bad with babies. Hell, you wouldn't believe how many times I'd had to wash Ginny-puke off me. But I guess I just wanted to have something as my own that would stay in this world, do something worthwhile.

And there you are; standing alone, but right beside me. I see the look on your face, I see the deep concentration etched on your features. I know it's the right time…I know now is when you will do it, and I will be free…

But before you do, and before I disappear forever, this time never to return, I need to touch you one more time. I need to feel your soft, smooth skin under my hands. I don't want to…I need to.

So my hand stretches towards your face; the white, freckled and slightly transparent arm extending forward till my fingertips pause a mere millimetre away from your cheekbone. And I move forwards.

I do not touch you. I cannot. I should have known…I am in your realm now, a realm where I do not belong. A realm where all I want is to feel your soft, smooth skin under my fingers. This is a realm where the things that tempt me the most are forbidden.

I sigh. It is beyond my ability to literally settle that feeling of want. But perhaps I could lessen that feeling somehow…perhaps I could change it so it does not hurt as much. My hand retreats from its position to inch its way down the line of your hair, tracing a single, dark strand.

I smile, and begin to move my finger around. A pattern emerges, and I gladly accept it, tracing along more and more strands of hair, intricate patterns showing themselves. They interact, they cross over. It is like a game, and I…I am like the wind. You cannot see me. You cannot feel me. But I am here.

I cease playing with your hair as I see you move. Your hands rise upwards, my urn clutched between them with such force you may almost break the handle off. You begin to tilt it, and I begin to float away. Not just my ashes, the part of me that still belongs here, but the actual essence of my life. I am disappearing, fading from a sight you never had…

You become blurred, I am swept backwards faster and faster, being unwillingly snatched from you yet again. Darkness…that darkness, it is back…it has come to claim me once more…

"Goodbye, Ron."

The final words you will say to me, and they are a whisper; hoarse, and perhaps not even intentional. But they are said, and I have heard them. Perhaps, of course, one of them was unnecessary. 

Ron. That was my name. But now….now, I have no identity. I have no name.

You don't need a name when you're dead.


End file.
